


A Night's Reprieve

by zarahjoyce



Series: A Long Night [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, post ep 8x03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: And you decide no, you will not fall here.Not yet.Not this moment yet.





	A Night's Reprieve

You can almost taste death in the air.  
  
Stifling and oppressive, you can almost choke on it - if you'd let it.  
  
Perhaps if you were a lesser man - perhaps if you were someone  _else_ \- you'd take this opportunity and die, like the rest of your people. Brave and strong at the face of insurmountable odds, yet also weak and frail at the face of something more than human.  
  
You almost sink into the weariness rattling your bones, unable to move beyond the undead dragon, not knowing how to. In the bleakest of moments selfishly, stupidly, you believe:  
  
It will not be taken against you, if you fall here.  
  
Your sins will no longer catch up with you, if you fall here.  
  
You'll be beyond all that is to come,  _if you fall here_.  
  
And yet--   
  
_We will win this, Jon. We have to._  
  
_We must._  
  
You take a deep breath and let it clear your head, let it remind you of the words you uttered not so long ago:  
  
_I swear to you, to defend you and our people I will fight._  
  
(until the end.)  
  
And you decide no, you will  _not_ fall here.  
  
Not yet.  
  
Not this moment yet.

* * *

  
And then, it was over, this war, this long,  _long_ night--  
  
But you have no time for reprieve, for your watch had only begun.   
  
As expected, the price your people paid for this battle is steep and dear, and you begin the unwanted task of learning just who had lived, and who  _hadn't_.

You survey those who had fallen. You had laughed with them, fought with them, fought _for_ them, and now--

Now their blood wets the grounds, a stark deep red against the snow. 

There is something bitter and awful in your throat and you swallow it, because you wonder what if one of yours fell tonight, what if--  
  
_This is our home. I will not be driven from it by anything, even death. Let it come when it comes._  
  
Gods.  
  
You swear you will fulfill your duties, all that is expected of you, if only you are assured that she--  _they_ \-- are alive.

You have to know. You _have_ to know.  
  
You find two of them  _are_ , and your chest feels full it's almost bursting. Your sister, your brave, talented,  _little_ sister and your serene, tranquil, little brother.   
  
Cousins.  
  
(Family.)  
  
_Alive._  
  
You bring them close to your heart, unable to part from them, not wanting to.  
  
_Arya, Bran--_  
  
_It is not us you really wish to find, is it?_  
  
And you feel yourself unable to respond to your brother, who sees things and  _through_ things and now--  
  
_Go. We will not leave yet._  
  
_Go and find her, Jon._  
  
You do.

* * *

  
The path towards the crypts is a long one.  
  
Bile rises in your throat as you realize that far from being a safe place, the crypt has become a  _tomb_ , when all the dead arose.  
  
You had sent her - and countless others - to their deaths.  
  
To their deaths!  
  
Your mind shies away from the very real possibility because you couldn't even-- you refuse to think about-- you will  _not_ \--  
  
You realize that there are some people spilling out of the crypts; many of them injured, or  _far_ worse, and--  
  
\--suddenly,  _she_ was there. Shaken and trembling, but alive,  _alive_.  
  
It doesn't take you long to walk to her. The  _need_ to make sure, to make absolutely certain that she is unhurt, is something that ought to take you by surprise - but never does.  
  
( _You'_ _ll protect her._ )  
  
She sees you at the very last moment before you'd drawn her into your arms. She releases a sob against your skin and holds you as tightly as you her; it's beautiful and wonderful and  _painful_ , after everything that's happened.  
  
_Sansa._  
  
_Jon._  
  
You turn towards her and kiss her brow, softly, tenderly. Gratefully.   
  
_It's over, isn't it?_  
  
_Yes. It is._  
  
And you feel her draw a deep breath that echoes in your bones, and with her, at this very moment, it's as though you, too, can breathe again.

(but you don't release her, not just yet.)

Light begins dotting the sky, you note absently. The night has passed.  
  
Perhaps  _now_ _,_  the healing can begin.


End file.
